


Revenant

by DistantStorm



Series: Revenant [4]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars), M/M, Mentor/Protégé to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Revenant:(noun)a person who has returned, especially supposedly from the dead.A series of moments detailing Thrawn and Eli's lives after the Empire, set in the Chiss Ascendancy.(The rest of the works in this series are precursors set in the same universe. No need to read them if you don't want to.)
Relationships: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Series: Revenant [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173008
Comments: 26
Kudos: 45





	1. Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> These were all originally supposed to be vignettes and separate entities, but I decided to post them as a multi-chap since they both build on each other and begin to blur together as they progress. 
> 
> This time I'm outwardly admitting to writing slow burn. And I mean sloooooooooow burn. I cannot fight what I am.

The derelict freighter is not the first Mid Commander Eli'van'to has encountered on this patrol. It is the most interesting. It's a Grysk vessel that's completely intact, including corpses. That's a big deal. Big enough to draw in his admiral. 

Admiral Mak'ro is hardly pleased by the change from the usual Grysk behavior, but he sends Eli back to Csilla to brief an aging but still-sharp Supreme General Ba'kif and, if Ba'kif wills it, submit himself to the questioning of the Syndicure. Better Eli than himself, Eli supposes.

Mak'ro is not the first or the last in a long line of Chiss who scour Eli's very being looking for every single imprint of his humanity and/or Thrawn to stamp out. He has been in the Ascendancy for seven years, and had his own ship for two of them now. It isn't large, and it gets every unsavory mission and crew member the Ascendancy has, but this isn't Eli's first go-round, so to speak. They court-martial him for everything they can, but that became old-hat years earlier. 

Around the eight month mark of his current command, his ragtag crew had sorted itself out. Now, and for the last year or so, his crew has built a reputation that emphasizes hard work and results. He runs a tight ship, and he's made it clear from the first that he doesn't care about politics. It's half of why he's court-martialed so much. He refuses to show favoritism, and that is the cost.

If nothing else, being in the capital so much keeps him informed.

Which is why he’s not surprised to see both his former admiral and his mentor. Thrawn has been back in the Ascendancy for about six months now. When he and Ar’alani had heard that Thrawn had survived his defeat at Lothal, Eli was sent off to newly minted Admiral Mak’ro and upgraded to mid commander. His research of the Navigators had been tabled, though he’d only made small scraps of progress.

Now, instead of studying their heritage, he rescues an alarming number of them from fates worse than death. 

He passes them, his second officer at his side. She quiets at the presence of Admiral Ar’alani. Likewise does Thrawn. Eli sees him as more than an untouchable (now former) admiral. He always had, but he has a different kind of experience now. He’s seen the other side. He knows. Not everything, but a lot of it.

“Admiral Ar’alani,” He greets, politely inclining his head. “Senior Captain Thrawn.” The universe does not slow, and momentum drags each of them forward along their own, separate paths.

.

-/

.

Thrawn makes it a point to wait until after his debriefing to ask Ar'alani any questions. This has been their routine for months. A patrol, a mission, an operation, followed by interviews and questions. Ar'alani grows tired of it, he can see it on her face.

She is not the only one. He has simply grown accustomed to walking on eggshells these days. He does not want to distract or disturb her.

And yet, because it is Ar'alani, she beats him to the subject. She addresses at the earliest appropriate moment.

"When you returned, I had wondered if you would ask about him," She says. They are alone in their shuttle, headed back to the _Steadfast_. 

Thrawn considers her. She lets him for a brief moment, then lifts an eyebrow to encourage speech. 

"He is well?" He asks, and it isn't quite the question she is expecting. He can see something not quite strained in her face and cheeks. 

"You may ask him that yourself," She allows. "I will share his contact information with you."

True to her word, she does. Thrawn is not sure what to do with it.

.

-/

.

Their paths don't cross again for another eighteen months, until the _Steadfast_ answers a distress beacon with an impressive encryption.

Vanto manages to save his people, but loses his ship in the process. Thrawn cannot help but to wonder why their leadership would send him on such a perilous mission with such meager resources.

But then Eli'van'to goes to court-martial, defends himself, and comes out with a promotion to senior commander and a new assignment.

"I need more competent crewmembers, anyway," Ar'alani supposes, accepting Ba'kif and Ja'fosk's orders without further commentary.

.

-/

.

"I'm surprised I never heard from you," Vanto says. At his side is the same lieutenant from eighteen months ago, now a lieutenant commander. She is a Chaf, of all things. Blood family.

She, and the rest of those that the _Steadfast_ absorbed are obstinately loyal to their former captain.

Thrawn considers what to say and finds himself bereft of anything of value. But Vanto's age and experience have started to catch up. He doesn't fly off the handle or give away that same displeased expression he always seemed to make in the seconds between impassive and studiously blank.

He smiles instead, as if expecting the response. It is a beacon, lighting up places inside Thrawn he did not realize had gone dark.

.

-/

.

The first time he and Thrawn work together, after all this time, it's strange for how strange it isn't. Eli moves around him, seeming to know the gaps Thrawn will fill before he does exactly that. They pull things off, claiming a decisive victory over their opponents.

But they are both so very different.

Thrawn is not the man he remembers. He is, because he is still chaos and wrath, a sharpened spear and a shield used to protect. But he is quieter. There are pauses in his actions. 

"I requested not to be given a command," Thrawn tells him. It is late. They sit in the officer's lounge near the hangar, which, unlike the aft-bridge lounge, is usually devoid of foot traffic. Eli's fingers are wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea. 

He whispers it like a secret. Eli should be surprised, but he isn't. The crew whispers about Thrawn and the end of his time in the Empire, but no one knows anything for certain. Not even the Jedi (who goes out of his way to avoid Eli) does, though Eli has no intentions to ask him.

"It's okay to want something different," He says. It's a little tentative because he isn't sure Thrawn wants to be comforted.

Thrawn's eyes are not narrowed, but they're still intense. He sizes Eli up like an equal now, despite the handful of ranks between them. Eli lets it happen and waits under the scrutiny, cheeks flushing minutely. He knows Thrawn can see it.

"It would not have been what was best," Thrawn says finally.

"For the Ascendancy or for yourself?" Eli asks. 

He stares at Eli in astonishment, as if Eli has imparted something scandalous. Eli refills his mug and lets Thrawn psychoanalyze them both. His time with the Chiss—and his time with Thrawn, specifically—has taught him that silence speaks if one is willing to listen. 


	2. Deep Freeze

He spends his first leave with Thalias at the Mitth family's headquarters on Rentor. She is as vibrant as she has ever been, but changed. She is a syndic now. 

She assures him the main perk of her position is the availability of finer liquor, though she only drinks with friends. Thus, they spend an entire day at the planet’s expansive museum and it's the only day of the two weeks he spends entirely sober. 

Thalias has always been kind, has always cared for and about him, and it is nice to feel that familiarity and safety so many years later.

"You know, I met him once," Thalias says, and Thrawn realizes his quiet musings have again drifted to his former aide. She situates herself sideways on the small, ornate sofa so she is perpendicular to him. His legs are too long to do the same. "E-li," She clarifies, over-pronouncing his name. 

Thrawn tilts his head in her direction and she smiles. "He is good for you," She continues seriously. "Like balance."

He grunts an acknowledgement. He is not nearly as intoxicated as she is, but he weighs twice as much and has dealt with Imperial High Command for a decade. His tolerance is on par with others far more important than they are.

Thalias giggles. "How did you convince him to come here and deal with—?" She gestures in the abstract to denote the Ascendancy with her glass, the fingers of her other hand curling over his forearm.

"I asked," He informs her.

She blinks back dubiously. 

.

-/

.

Vanto is waiting for him when he gets back. The whole crew had been granted leave while their ship was in need of repair, and Thrawn had not thought much about where Eli would go or who he would see. 

And yet, Vanto isn't upset by their leave. Whatever prejudices the Chiss have towards outsiders must no longer apply to him. Or, perhaps he has simply grown used to it. 

"I do have a life here," Vanto tells him, days later. They should be trying to figure out the motive in a string of attacks impacting supply lines on Naporar, but Vanto's words distract him. 

"I never suggested otherwise." Thrawn replies, but Thalias' words that one evening stick with him. He looks at Vanto, his red eyes locked on the human’s face while he studies his questis. Thrawn exhales silently, looking down and away to his work,

and asks, "Why did you agree to come to the Ascendancy?"

Vanto sets down his questis with a quiet clack. Their eyes meet.

"You asked," Vanto tells him, simple as that.

That pleases Thrawn immensely. It is what he had told Thalias, after all.

Except, he realizes, it isn't. There are so many ways that could be interpreted, and Thrawn does not know which translation he's expecting.

.

-/

.

Eli rubs his eyes. He's at his limit and he knows it. Thrawn remains studious and focused, so Eli excuses himself, hits the refectory, and makes them both a tray.

It's not that different from his time in the Empire. While Thrawn had never demanded such things, Thrawn also failed to care for himself properly when he was on the cusp of discovery. When Eli returns, Thrawn’s eyes spark a little, a bright-dim flash of acknowledgement and appreciation. It had taken Eli a long time to catch onto that particular tell. Like everything else about a Chiss, it's subtle.

Thrawn, here and now, is subdued. It's almost like the clock has stopped for him and he remains in stasis, trapped between seconds. He is every bit as intelligent and capable as he's ever been—maybe even more so—but it's as if he doesn't know how to make time run forward.

Eli thinks about it a lot. About Thrawn, about their shared past and their uncertain future, and about the right now. About the whispers of truth hidden between his statements, and the way he shows what he means by his actions, rather than the monotony of words and their hidden meanings.

He leans back in his chair, silently watching Thrawn as he works, slowly but surely picking at the assortment of food Eli brought him. He can lend an ear to whatever is on Thrawn’s mind, should the other man wish to discuss, but he probably won't. After all, it is not Eli who can help Thrawn. 

Only Thrawn can help himself. 

Eli’s time in the Ascendancy has taught him how to be patient. Thrawn will come around eventually. Or, an opportunity will present itself. Eli has learned from the master of manipulating variables and situations. He’s keeping his eyes—and his options—open.

.

-/

.

“Excellent work today,” Thrawn tells him, and Eli smiles. It’s a little wry, but familiar. Thrawn is not quite there yet, his answering smile still too small to see but for the increased glow in his eyes, trapped behind a wall of ice. “We have the entire puzzle put together.”

Eli nods, inclining his head to Thrawn. On the bridge, it would be a crisp "Yes, sir," interspersed with thanks. But here, in their makeshift office (a rarely used briefing room), Eli is more casual.

When they part for the evening, Eli brushes against his upper arm with his shoulder. Still casual, but intentional. A familiar gesture, between friends. After all, that is what they are.

"See you for alpha shift," He says over that shoulder, already in motion to his tiny berth at the end of the hall. He does not wait for a response. He feels the eyes trained on his back.

Thrawn watches him go.


	3. Hurricane

When he sees Vanto go down, something inside Thrawn breaks. It is ugly and angry, snarling and coiled like an angry predator. Vanto is his truest ally. His most loyal friend.

He does what he must. Afterward, he finds that, in the moment, he hadn't been thinking at all. Not in the way he usually would. His actions had been ruthless and efficient as always, but adrenaline and a fierce expanse of emotion defy his perfect recall. He can’t say he’s proud of his actions, but the pirates who waylaid them are roughed up but restrained.

Vanto returns to consciousness after ten minutes of Thrawn trying to rouse him. He does not attempt to sit up, likely recognizing the effects of a concussion.

"Captain?" He asks, touching his fingers to a tacky wound on his temple.

"Here," Thrawn says, leaning over him. "I did not see any injuries besides the one on your temple."

"Seems right to me," He answers, taking Thrawn's hand after bracing himself on his elbows. "I remember getting hit. The pirates?"

Thrawn pulls him up to standing and he reels, colors shifting in the infrared with his body's uncoordinated response. "These ones have been dealt with, but there will be more," He murmurs. "Sparklevision?"

"A little," Vanto admits. He looks uneasy, rocking against Thrawn’s grip, newly adjusted to hold his elbow firmly. He steadies after a moment and Thrawn steps back, looking down at him.

“You need medical attention,” Thrawn tells him.

He isn’t expecting for Vanto’s expression of confused disbelief. “We have them right where we want them,” The human insists, voice low and a little stern. “I’m fine to continue.”

“You are concussed.”

“I’m _fine_.” He crosses his arms. “The objective is more important and you are not going alone.”

Thrawn watches him a moment. His lips twist, displeased, but he knows Vanto is right. “If you are sure.”

“I am.”

.

-/

.

Vanto lied. He is not fine. Thrawn spends the rest of their pirate hunting expedition with his attention split between making sure Vanto doesn’t take another blow to the head to alter him further and making sure all of the pirates are suitably captured by the time the _Steadfast_ returns to pick them back up.

The Chaf lieutenant commander takes Vanto to medbay for an eval and treatment for their second fight’s worth of scuffs and bruises while Ar’alani is brought up to speed by Thrawn alone.

He is frustrated, and she is far more insightful than most. “Write me a report on your findings,” She orders, her expression flat. “You will have time while you are overseeing Commander Ivant.”

“Ma’am?”

She does not smile, but her lips twitch like she has perhaps considered it. “Medbay is short-staffed,” She informs him. “You are capable of enforcing concussion protocol, are you not?”

Yes, he is. And while Thrawn senses the lie, he will not talk back to his admiral. There is a purpose to this, he supposes. She intends to teach him something. “As you wish, Admiral Ar’alani,” He replies.

She scoffs at his tone, saying, “You were going to sit with him anyway.” He hadn’t been, but it appears she sees that in his face, too. She sounds exasperated as she continues, “You are dismissed, Captain. Let me know how he is in the morning.”

.

-/

.

“I’m just tired,” Eli assures Thrawn, which he’ll realize in highsight to be less than reassuring. 

Yes, he is concussed. Yes, he is dizzy and there’s still that pesky halo of sparklevision. Moving his head too quickly makes his heartbeat sound off in his skull and his stomach lurch. It is the more aggravating of his injuries, which now also include a few blaster burns he’d paid back with interest, and a jagged vibroblade mark that won’t scar thanks to the bacta bandage taped over it. Everything else is bumps and bruises. All in all, it’s standard fare.

Thrawn is too tall to let Eli drape an arm over his shoulders without nearly bending in half, so Thrawn’s arm is around Eli’s shoulders instead, his grip firm as he steers them back to Eli’s tiny room at the end of Officer Country. Time has less meaning with a head injury, but Thrawn hasn't had to do much more than keep him from stumbling drunkenly so he suspects he hasn't added much time to their usual pace.

Eli slaps his hand on the biometric reader outside the door a little louder than he’d planned to, and reels when Thrawn steps back to let him go through the narrow hatch first. He can see Thrawn fighting off the urge to make him lay down, but Thrawn has been a fixture of his life for nearly twenty years now, and should know which metaphorical hills Eli is willing to die on. Besides, unlike Thrawn, he hadn’t gotten a moment to himself since they’d returned, and if he was going to drop into bed for the next rotation or so, he’d rather not wake up feeling rancid inside and out.

He compromises by leaving the ‘fresher door open. By the time he’s done with his brief and mostly self-indulgent shower (he spends most of it with a hand on the wall letting the grime and suds circle the drain), there’s not much fight left in him. He’s in his blacks when he leaves the ‘fresher, and he nearly faceplants on the dresser when he opens it to pull out fatigues.

Thrawn huffs and points in the direction of the bed, sitting at the tiny desk covered in datacards and so-called “recreational” analysis. He’s angry, Eli can see it in the way his lips compress as he throws a black shirt and pants on the bed next to him. Eli gingerly reaches down because there’s no way in hell he’s letting Thrawn dress him and manages to get his fatigues on without making himself look like more of an idiot.

He lays down before Thrawn can admonish him because Thrawn doesn’t yell, but he certainly knows how to make a point despite it.

It’s quiet. Eli won’t apologize for Thrawn being responsible for him. Thrawn brought that upon himself almost two decades ago, and Eli can privately appreciate the admiral’s sense of humor in allowing him to reprise that role as necessary.

“I will wake you in two hours,” Thrawn says, and Eli rolls over so that his back is to Thrawn and the uninjured side of his head is turned up toward the bulkhead. He wonders if he’ll remember Thrawn waking him.

.

-/

.

Vanto comes to with Thrawn’s alarm, the six-hour mark of his overnight shift. Thrawn has dozed in less comfortable places than Vanto’s desk chair, but he’s not getting any younger. So when Vanto groans and fumbles muzzily for the bottle of pain tabs in the drawer beside his bunk, Thrawn intervenes, intending to issue a dose to Vanto as well as himself. 

Something stops him. His fingers brush against the bottle, and unlike Vanto, who does not have superior vision in the darkness, Thrawn is able to the rest of the drawers contents: a backup questis and charging port, an additional stylus or three, and a data pad that glints of grayish steel, embellished with the faded cogs of a once-powerful wheel.

It feels, immediately, like he’s intruding. And yet… 

“The painkillers, Thrawn,” Vanto croaks, laying on his back, one hand over his eyes. Thrawn jerks, but Vanto is not paying attention. He’s holding out a hand, looking a little desperate for relief from the throbbing migraine he’ll have for the next day or so.

Vanto swallows them dry and puts his back to Thrawn again, drawing the blanket up and over his shoulders with a grunt of discomfort.

“I let them rough me up on purpose,” Vanto says into the dark, long after Thrawn has returned to Vanto’s too-small desk. There isn’t much Thrawn misses about the Empire, but his former aft-bridge office is up there on the list.

Thrawn blinks in Vanto’s direction, his questis screen timing out from lack of input, going dark. “What?”

“I said, I let them hit me on purpose.”

Of all the things, Thrawn thinks. His exhale is controlled, and he resists the urge to growl as he clarifies, “You allowed three Vagari pirates to accost you?”

A pause. Then, “No, before that.”

“You allowed—” Thrawn’s nostrils flare, he can feel it, his lips drawing back against their will. This time he does growl. “You are concussed, Senior Commander. The events of the past day will be a bit distorted in your memories.”

“Ask me when they clear me for duty, and my answer will be the same.”

Thrawn rises, stepping around the edge of Eli’s bunk so that he can look into the other man’s eyes in the dark. His eyes are clear, his face stern. The pain relief tablets are non-narcotic and could not have not altered him, nor has Vanto exhibited any symptoms of memory loss.

“You mean to tell me that you saw that pirate swinging the stock of his blaster at your head and took it?”

“It was a calculated risk,” Vanto agrees.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” He retorts.

It doesn’t make sense, thus Thrawn doesn’t answer so Vanto will explain.

“You’re afraid,” Vanto says. 

“They could’ve killed you,” He pushes, ignoring Vanto’s comment. He is hardly afraid. Vanto is concussed and does not know what he’s talking about. “We were outnumbered—”

Vanto sits up, one hand cradling his head. Even sleep-rumpled, his expression is hard enough to be taken seriously. “You needed to sell it and you hadn’t been. The pirates wouldn’t have called for backup if we hadn’t reacted with deadly force. It would’ve looked like we were military. We needed their leader, and thanks to you, we got them.”

Thrawn turns away from him, looks out the viewport into the swirling mass of stars slowly shifting as they move between systems at sublight. Vanto sighs and lays down. He doesn’t speak again, and eventually his breaths even out.

.

-/

.

Eli is prepared for the cold shoulder.

He is not twenty-two standard and confused about the way his forced mentor operates anymore. He doesn’t need to look in the drawer of his bedside table to know that the Imperial datapad Thrawn had given him nearly a decade earlier is missing.

The next time they have no choice but to cross paths, Eli is going to the bridge to give Admiral Ar’alani for a status update, while Thrawn is newly off duty and likely headed to the dojo to train.

“You can keep it,” Eli tells him. He does not step into Thrawn’s path, does not attempt to have the confrontation Thrawn will expect. They are both different people, these days.

Waspishly, Thrawn says, “I beg your pardon, Senior Commander Ivant?”

“The datapad you’ve borrowed, Senior Captain,” Eli clarifies quietly, because he knows better than to elaborate in a public space, and Thrawn is smart enough to figure it out. He takes care to speak softly. “Keep it.”

Ar’alani lingers in the doorway leading from the bridge, her arms crossed over her chest. She keeps her eyes trained on Thrawn, appraising him from behind. There is a pensive look on her face and Eli does not doubt she is well aware of the tension between them. She interrupts the frigid almost-glare Thrawn gives him as he tries to figure out what Eli’s angle is, if he is motivated by pettiness and mutual anger or if it’s something else.

“Senior Commander Eli’van’to,” Ar’alani cuts in. “I have been expecting you.”

Eli inclines his head to Thrawn before passing him to address Admiral Ar’alani directly. He has work to do.


	4. Eye of the Storm

In the three weeks since he and Thrawn have spoken last, Eli has been both productive and, admittedly, lonely. He has friends aboard the _Steadfast_ , but none of his professional or personal relationships have the same quiet companionship and general ease or familiarity his relationship with Thrawn has. 

He knows what it’s like to need space, to need to be alone to figure yourself out, and he is far more social than Thrawn. So, he doesn’t ask anyone, and discourages anyone who volunteers information about Thrawn’s activities since they’d last talked. Chiss may be gossips, but Eli is not. Besides, Thrawn is a difficult man to read even with years of experience. Whatever anyone thinks, there’s a good chance they’re wrong.

The admiral would really like them to “get over their issues,” but she is both intelligent and emotionally aware and knows it’s not Eli who needs to get over himself for once.

Eli returns to his cabin, hair still wet from his post workout shower, a steaming mug of tea in his hand because he’d like to get started on the new generational data Ar’alani’s provided him. Needless to say, Thrawn letting himself into his quarters is surprising enough to make him nearly dump the mug down the front of him.

One thing that has never changed is Thrawn’s inability to respect personal space when he has an objective in mind. 

And his current objective? Well, it appears to be a conversation with Eli.

That’s what he gets for toggling the lock with one hand while bringing the mug to his lips with the other, Eli supposes. At the last minute, he manages to course correct, sloshing the hot beverage on his fingers instead of down the front of his tunic. He juggles the mug to the other hand and sucks the tea off them, hissing at the sensitivity of a mild burn.

“Senior Captain,” Eli says, setting his tea on the desk beside where Thrawn is sitting before going to wash the remnants of tea off his hands. It only takes a moment and he’s back, taking his mug and holding it between his hands. “What can I do for you?”

Thrawn has the old datapad in his hands, the screen off. His fingers fold behind it, laced together. His eyes are sharp and serious, but there is something else there, too. Something quieter and held back.

“This belongs to you,” Thrawn says, setting it on Eli’s desk, swiveling the chair to and fro.

That’ll be it, Eli thinks. He’ll just want it to go back to however it’s been. That won’t do either of them any favors. He takes a deep breath, lets it go, tilting his head to meet Thrawn’s averted gaze. “Well, I don’t mind sharing,” He says, admitting, “I took most of it to heart, but—”

“'If one is remembered by a friend, one is never truly gone,'” Thrawn interrupts, reciting the final entry verbatim.

Eli crosses the narrow width of the room until Thrawn is forced to look up. He smiles because he’s read that particular entry a million times and it had taken him so incredibly long to figure it out. “Yes,” He holds Thrawn’s gaze with his dark eyes, “I remember.”

Thrawn exhales tension like he’s been dealt a blow.

.

-/

.

"I am putting you in charge of the Sarvechi smuggling sting," Admiral Ar'alani tells him. "You will have a cruiser and crew at your disposal, as well as ground troops should you need them." She pulls back, studying him. Looking for hesitation.

There is none. 

"I cannot spare Senior Commander Ivant," She tells him, not yet satisfied. "It is not feasible."

"I do not need him," Thrawn insists. It is the truth. But if he had a choice he knows what he'd want. 

The thought catches him off guard.

.

-/

.

He is gone for months. He does not take the datapad when Vanto offers it.

.

-/

.

Eli runs the data Thrawn sends him as soon as time allows. He's been busy between his analysis of the Navigators and their current patrol. He sends it back with a note, something brief telling his former admiral that he's on the right track. 

Thrawn thanks him. 

Eli begins to type back, but deletes the beginnings of a conversation. Thrawn has not invited it. Not really. 

Patience, Eli, He chides himself. You've got to be patient. 

.

-/

.

Thrawn returns to the _Steadfast_ nearly six months later. He looks more balanced and at ease. Eli knows this because Thrawn seems to find Eli immediately after his debrief, waiting patiently for him to finish the day's analysis. When Eli says he's nearly done, Thrawn disappears, returning just as he's sending off the figures he's compiled to the admiral for review. He has two mugs of tea in hand.

"Thanks," Eli murmurs, taking one from him. And then, "Glad you're back."

The Chiss hums in acknowledgement. "What have I missed?"

"Not much," He admits, but takes great care in bringing Thrawn up to speed over the next few hours.

Eli doesn’t ask how Thrawn’s operation went, though it isn’t for lack of wanting to. Thrawn had only sent him a single request to analyze data, asking him to confirm some of Thrawn’s art-based theories.

It’s only when the night wears on and they’ve moved to Thrawn’s quarters that the Chiss talks about his lengthy pirate operation, the research and preparation that he’d needed to undertake to see his goal to fruition. Eli follows his line of reasoning easily, no longer needing the same in-depth explanations to arrive at the endgame.

“Did you enjoy it?” Eli asks, when the conversation becomes diminished.

Thrawn considers. “I did,” He says, a little guarded.

Eli leans back, propping his elbows on Thrawn’s bunk.Thrawn clearly prefers the use of a desk chair for posture’s sake. “I’d love to command a ship like this someday,” He tells the Chiss. “With a busy enough patrol route and a little more freedom, even if it means I’m back in Csilla to answer for every reasonable action I take.”

“Have you discussed it with Admiral Ar’alani?” Thrawn asks him.

“She knows,” Eli admits. “I was beyond lucky to get my last promotion. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t deserve it,” He waves his hands in front of him before Thrawn can insinuate otherwise. It's an old argument. “They’ll never promote me to captain.” He shrugs. “It’s just politics.”

“Just like I will never progress beyond senior captain,” Thrawn supposes. Eli wonders if it's been said to him by the Syndicure or if he has also been warned by Admiral Ar'alani. Or, perhaps it is Eli’s experiences in the Imperial Navy that have given him clarity. It probably isn’t.

“Politics are unpleasant and often unintelligent,” Eli responds. “They have no place in the military.” He flops back on Thrawn's bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"You will fall asleep like that," Thrawn warns him after several quiet moments. He sounds as neutral as always. 

"I'm not that tired yet," Eli says, but sits up again anyway. "Well, I suppose if we'll both be here until the end," He continues, picking up the discarded thread of conversation, "I think I'd like to spend it serving with you."


	5. Monsoon Season

They are on the bridge when the Admiral sweeps in. She is at Vanto's side in an instant, whispering something to him. He stiffens but nods, giving off the impression of one given bad news. She comes to Thrawn next, as he is her first officer.

"I am dismissing Senior Commander Eli'van'to early," She says. "He has a personal matter to attend to."

Thrawn inclines his head. She is his admiral, and this is not an item he gets a choice about. His curiosity is piqued, though. It is bad form to ask and Ar'alani will not answer if he does.

He will have to ask later. He does not doubt Eli will tell him.

.

-/

.

Thrawn's boots are loud on the deck plates as he crosses the threshold to Ar'alani's office. It has been five days. 

She lifts her head from the questis she's been studying, as if she had been expecting him. 

She had. "He had to take emergency leave," Admiral Ar'alani says.

Thrawn frowns, pensive. 

"Long range communications have come a long way since you went to the Galactic Empire," She deadpans. "I am confident his questis will receive any messages you decide to send him," She says. 

He doesn't say anything to that, waiting her out.

She slaps a hand to the desktop. "I am not under obligation to tell you anything—"

"I never suggested anything of the sort."

Scoffing, she continues over him, "I was not finished." She exhales the irritation and repeats, "I am not under obligation to tell you anything, but if I was," Here she scrutinizes him closely, "I would remind you that Eli'van'to's universe does not revolve around you. He has lived here, without you, for years."

It is a swift rebuke and nothing Thrawn does not already know. But the truth stings, regardless.

.

-/

.

It should not be so difficult to type a message. It has never been an issue before, Thrawn thinks as he stares at his datapad in relative confusion. There is nothing wrong with his grammar or spelling, but the words don't look right. 

He types and deletes, types and revises and deletes, repeats, repeats, then growls and pushes aside his device altogether.

Just when he's about to give it one final attempt, Vanto saves him from his brooding.

_I need a favor,_ Vanto types. _I know you're close with Syndic Mitth’ali’astov. Could you send me her contact information?_

Thrawn blinks at the message. Whatever he had been expecting, that was not it.

_Attached,_ He sends back. Then, before he can think about it, _Are you alright?_

_It's not for me,_ He clarifies, which only makes things more confusing. _Thank you, Thrawn._

_Of course,_ He answers.

.

-/

.

Thalias comms two days later using the official channels. Ar'alani greets her cordially and summons Thrawn straight away. Judging by her expression as she beckons him in, she expected this as well.

"You look confused," Thalias accuses, her head and shoulders projected in bluish light. She sighs, directing the breath upward to rustle her bangs. "Thank you for giving Eli my comm-code, in any case. You know how the Irizi can be. I have to fight them off with sticks when there's a Navigator involved."

"A Navigator?" Thrawn echoes. 

"He really didn't tell you anything and you just—" She looks at Ar'alani, then back to Thrawn, huffing like she should've known better. "Okay," She must be drumming her fingertips on the table holding the holoprojector. "I can come to get you—"

"It is not my business, Thalias," Thrawn insists. "And I am needed here."

She looks unimpressed. 

Ar'alani interjects, "I cannot spare another officer, no matter how much I would like to."

"I am a syndic of—"

The steady gaze Ar'alani gives Thalias' projection is an instant defeat. "I trust that you and Senior Commander Ivant will be capable of convincing Un’hee to join your family, Syndic."

.

-/

.

_Are you busy?_

The message comes late. Thrawn squints at the popup on his questis that interrupts his reading. It's not actually that late aboard the _Steadfast_ , but it is late for Vanto, who is on Rentor with Thalias and apparently Un’hee.

_Not at all,_ Thrawn keys back. 

There is nothing for a long moment, and Thrawn resigns himself to reading while Vanto decides how to write whatever is on his mind. Two lines of text later, another message comes through.

_I have no idea what I'm doing._

Thrawn considers. Vanto is competent at written word when it is facts and numbers. Neither of them are terribly emotional. He exhales, slow and controlled. He does not know what advice he could possibly give. But he doubts that is Vanto's objective anyway.

He closes the message window and instead comms Thalias directly.

She exhales in surprise, her voice low. "You're not calling for me, are you?" She says in lieu of a greeting.

"I am not," Thrawn confirms. His communications with his regional syndic are more protected. He and Vanto are aware of the many eyes watching them.

"Eli," Thalias calls, still muted. There is a burst of static, then nothing at all.

He waits another moment. 

"Thrawn?"

"Vanto."

There is something else, more muffled in the background, to which Eli chuckles. It sounds both nervous and exasperated. Thalias is responsible, of that Thrawn has no doubt.

"You didn't have to call," Vanto says. 

No, Thrawn thinks, he didn't. But that doesn't matter. "I doubt I will have much in the way of advice given your unique situation."

"That's alright."

They don't talk long. He can hear the edge of exhaustion in Vanto's voice, the lengthening pauses in his words. Vanto knows it, too.

"Eli," Thrawn says, before the other man can disconnect. "Un’hee is wise to ally herself with you. She will be fine."

"I know," He sighs.

"Message me tomorrow," The captain continues.

"I will," Vanto promises.

Thrawn knows, even before he disconnects his comm and returns to his reading, that something between them is shifting.

.

-/

.

On Vanto's first shift back, the Chaf officer asks how Un'hee is. Thrawn had suspected, considering the circumstances leading to his time away, that Vanto was a fixture in her life. It makes sense that the officers who work closely with him know some of this. 

Vanto answers cordially enough, and the woman recalls the now-retired Un’hee's courage and intelligence. "When she retires, are you going to adopt her? She always said she wanted to be—"

"Lieutenant Commander Freina," Thrawn intervenes, his timing not enough to distract the woman from the conflicted look that breezes across the human's face.

She realizes her misstep immediately. "Oh, fu-"

"Language," Vanto chides, voice heavy, like a summer storm. "It's alright," He says, "You didn't know."

"I am so sorry, Commander," The lieutenant commander puts a hand on his arm. "They should let you at least sponsor her. If my family were worth their weight in—"

"I appreciate it," Vanto tells her, and he means it. "It’s taken care of."

Curiously, she asks, exhibiting her familial tendency not to let things go, "Did Admiral Mak'ro hook you up? I know he offered."

"He did, but," Vanto shakes his head once, and smiles in Thrawn's direction, albeit briefly. "My friend has a connection. Un’hee is in good hands."

"And she's okay with it?"

"Yes," He says, and he sounds like he believes it. "She is."


	6. Cumulonimbus

The ride down to a planet always takes forever. It takes longer when a ship has damage, and even longer than that when the hangar they came from was worse for wear. Even so, Ar'alani appears to be immune to the shaking and shuffling that makes Eli's bones rattle.

Even Thrawn was incapable of hiding his own shudders, like he too had become an extension of the damaged transport. At least they were harnessed in.

When they arrive, the three of them met with planetary CDF leadership. Ar'alani and Thrawn shake hands, the ground commander ignores Eli, and it stays more or less status quo. Once their troops are settled in and accounted for on base, their time is theirs until the _Steadfast_ was dubbed spaceworthy once more.

Eli takes stock of his horribly drafty room—the smallest, most junior officer quarters they can offer him, and can't help but laugh at Thrawn's expression.

"I have had desks bigger than this room," Thrawn said, ducking elegantly lest he hit his head on some of the ductwork.

"I think the room I was given on Copero was actually a closet." He gestures toward the reason for the draft, "This one has a window at least."

"And it is the middle of winter," Thrawn tuts. 

"Wouldn't be my first brush with hypothermia," Eli quips back.

Eli moves to the side, letting Thrawn sit beside him on the plain bunk, back to the cold exterior wall. They knock shoulders. The bunk must be meant for a Navigator, it's so small. Eli has seen cots with better construction.

The Chiss frowns. "Once was enough," He says.

.

-/

.

The wind howls and the temperature drops sharply. Once the weather clears, there will be more to do. The base is situated outside the capital city, and they will have time to explore. Thrawn has plans to visit the local museum, Vanto joining him in exchange for company at the city's night market. It is hardly a chore to accommodate the request.

In the meantime, Thrawn and Vanto end up in one of the far corners of the officer's mess. Between them is a board littered with black and white tiles.

Around them, several curious officers have gathered. The young Chaf officer stands over Vanto's right shoulder, lower lip sucked between her teeth. There are more white tiles than black.

"I can hear you grinding your teeth, Commander," Vanto says, sounding amused. "Take a seat." He gestures to the bench beside him. He advances again, and it looks to be a second move that will cost him. 

Thrawn looks at his opponent and inclines his head in a question. 

"Keep playing like usual, I want her to figure it out," He shrugs a little sheepishly and addresses the group. "I'm under the impression that the Senior Captain here knows my strategy."

There are murmurs around them, but nothing productive. Thrawn does not directly take the bait as offered but enacts a plan to secure the portion of the board Vanto's pieces have yielded.

The game is hardly difficult. There is a commander tile, and nondescript troops. The game ends when the commander's forces are reduced to nothing through kill or capture, or when the enemy commander is surrounded by pawns. This is a game taught to younglings but it is a great test of tactical aptitude. 

Vanto gestures to the board. "Your move, Commander Freina."

She rears back, surprised. Thrawn folds his fingers in front of his lips, elbows pressed to the tabletop, and considers his protégé's protégé.

Reaching out, she moves one of the black tiles into a relatively safe position, then pauses at the look on Vanto's face.

"No?" She asks.

Vanto doesn't comment and Freina lays down the tile. She has no idea that her move could potentially topple Vanto's right flank in another three turns.

"There is no need to be nervous," Vanto chides her, as Thrawn moves without regard for her moves. It will take little to capitalize on her inadvertent failure. The human takes the next turn and moves elsewhere, seizing two white tiles Thrawn had planned to part with.

"You beat him often?" Someone asks.

"Mostly in sims," Vanto quips, earning laughter from the gathered officers. “Once in a while at cards, if I’m lucky.”

"You have been known to surprise on occasion," Thrawn amends.

"On occasion," Vanto echoes dubiously, eyeing Thrawn's next move. To Freina, he asks, "What's his plan?"

She hums thoughtfully, then whispers in his ear. He smirks. "A good thought. The game is yours and I believe it’s your move."

The lieutenant commander is unorthodox. She is wide-eyed and expressive, and she rocks forward when it is her turn. This time she takes longer, reaching out for a tile on the left side of the board, moving it up more aggressively.

"I would have moved it to the right, " Vanto supposes, but Thrawn can see him adapting mentally to his subordinate's change in the plan.

The game progresses. Thrawn is dealt minor losses and the lieutenant commander begins to determine her own plan. She is going to lose, and she seems to know it, attempting to stave off defeat for as long as she can. Vanto lets her go for a while, then grabs her wrist before she can make an ill-fated move.

"What do you know about your opponent?" Vanto asks her.

"I mean," She gestures to Thrawn. "He's crazy smart, and you've told me about his art skills and tactical ability," Thrawn watches her, aloof, "But those are generalizations," She muses, "Not specifics."

"You have all the tools you need to beat him," Vanto tells her. Thrawn does not need to look up to know the officers around them are paying rapt attention. They wish to learn, and Vanto is putting on a clinic. "You know something else about Captain Thrawn."

"Yes, that he—Wait." She sets the piece she'd lifted back onto the board, suddenly more focused.

"I will allow you that one misstep, Lieutenant Commander," Thrawn tells her. "But the rules of engagement do specify that if you lift a piece, it must be the one you move."

She looks up at him, her eyes glinting. "It's not a misstep, sir." She picks up the same tile once more, moving it diagonally, instead of in a direct assault. "But I'll keep that in mind."

-/

Freina loses. Eli had known she would from the start, but Thrawn is intrigued. She didn't use the same strategy Eli or Thrawn would have, but it's that creativity that needs polish and refining. Her tactics need some work, but she's already improved significantly under his tutelage. 

She held on longer than Thrawn had expected, but Thrawn does not simply defeat her and be done with it. He's intrigued, asking her to walk him through her strategy while providing tips to improve upon it for next time.

Eli isn't surprised that she's a little starstruck. By the time the small crowd dies down and they're packing up the game, Thrawn is back to his contemplative baseline. Eli slips the game back onto the corner rack it had come from, and waits for Thrawn to depart with him.

His eyes are strangely bright, Eli thinks. The hall is not that dim, so he must be pleased about something. "What is it?" He asks, rather than wasting his free time trying to understand Thrawn's complex manner of thinking.

Thrawn looks at him, but shakes his head. "I am not sure."

Eli rolls his eyes, but makes sure he's looking away before he does. Right. Either he doesn't know why he's pleased, or he doesn't want to share. Eli won't press.

-/

Thrawn lays awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl. He wonders if Eli Vanto would have defeated him, what his own plan would've been. He is so open and approachable, but he holds his cards close to the chest. He has always been that way, to an extent.

They are already close, already friends. Vanto is more open with him than with any other. And yet, Thrawn feels like he wants something… different. Or, perhaps not something different, but rather something more than what he has already.

It’s selfish.


End file.
